


The Mentalist

by Katzedecimal



Series: The New Pub [1]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Mild Gore, Mild Horror, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets of <i>The Mentalist</i>, written for The New Pub</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bail

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: blood money

One million dollars, and the gavel slammed down. And they had led him away. 

"How is he going to raise another million dollar bond without pissing off another gangster?" Rigsby asked. 

Lisbon shook her head, "I don't know."

"Can **we** raise that kind of money?"

"The department can but I doubt they'll want to. He's been pissing them off a lot lately as well."

"You'd think people would be used to it by now," Cho agreed. 

"How long do you think he'll stay in?" Van Pelt asked, "We need him on this case, how will we get him out?"

Lisbon shook her head again, "I don't know. I'll sleep on it. Go on home, get some rest, everybody. We'll need to be fresh in the morning."

In the morning, there was something on her couch. The leather couch she kept in her office for guests, the leather couch that Patrick Jane had adopted as his bed. That leather couch. 

"Who put this here?"

"No idea, ma'am. We're asking around but nobody seems to have seen anything."

"I want the security footage..."

"Already on that, ma'am."

"And get a bomb squad up here."

"Already on that too."

Because you couldn't be too careful, not with Patrick Jane. But the sniffers turned up nothing. No bomb. 

But the cadaver dog had started to growl. 

Very, very carefully, she unlatched the briefcase. The smell of iron and rot made her recoil and the dog started barking but she pushed the lid open to reveal the money. 

One million dollars. Cash. 

And every single bill smiled with eyes that wept blood.


	2. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are tricky things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: Rubber ducky

Shouldn't have opened the drawer. 

It was a risk he took, every time he went to investigate a case. A risk that something like this could happen. 

Something that would trigger him. Something that would cause all of the memories to come flooding back. 

Her sunny smile. Her laughter. The bubbles piling high like fluffy clouds. The sounds of laughter and running feet. 

The smell of strawberries. 

_"Daddy! Daddy! Where's Ricky?"_

She'd named it Ricky. Only God and she knew why. 

Then Rigsby picked up the scuffed rubber ducky and squeaked it, then sang, "Rubber ducky, you're the one, you make bathtime lots of fun!"

And it was more than he could take. He had to escape, **now** , before he broke down completely or hit Rigsby or flung the toy away...

Anything to make the memories stop. 

Rigsby watched as Patrick Jane abruptly spun about and rushed out of the house. He turned a baffled face to Cho and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Doesn't like your singing voice."


	3. Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red John steps up his game, to Patrick Jane's dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Conductor in a swallow-tailed coat

_Trust no one._ That, at the heart of it, was the lesson that had been hammered home to him so many, many times. Trust no one. And he couldn't afford to, not anymore. Not Cho, not Rigsby, certainly not Van Pelt. Not even Lisbon. _Trust no one._

Now he sat in the opera house, sipping tea during the intermission. Following his own leads. He no longer trusted the CBI and he sure didn't trust the feds. 

The house lights dimmed again and the orchestra prepared for the second act. Jane's eyes fixed on the conductor, in his swallow-tailed coat and tux, ascending to his place. The conductor who had a lead on Red John. The conductor who had information. 

This would be his last performance. He was turning state's evidence in exchange for witness protection. A new career, a new identity. Walking away from music forever. 

Patrick Jane knew how he felt. He sipped his tea and let himself relax, listening to the sounds of a man who was pouring his whole being into the last performance he would ever conduct. His heart and soul were streaming into the orchestra and the orchestra picked up the current, translated it into sound. Nothing could ever be more beautiful. 

When the curtain came down, Jane made his way through the press of people, showing his backstage pass, navigating around the press, to the conductor's dressing room. There he had to wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. 

And wait. 

Something was wrong. He knocked a few times, wondering if the man had managed to get past him while Jane was fighting the throngs. No answer. He tried the door and swung it open.

To see the fresh smiley on the wall. 

But a quick search of the room turned up no body. Closet, nothing. Then where...?

A noise at the door made Jane turn around and stare as the conductor stumbled in, clutching his abdomen. He stared at the pale face, the pleading eyes. The pale lips opened and the man tried to speak, but was choked by the bubbling blood. Then he took his hands away and fell to pieces on the floor. Leaving Patrick Jane, spattered. And on the scene. He thought about how this was going to look.

 _Trust no one,_ he thought, _No one at all._


	4. Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cho and Van Pelt speculate on their collegue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: _Carry On_

_"Carry on, my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more."_

Van Pelt looked over at the figure sleeping fitfully on the leather chesterfield. "Do you suppose he'll ever be done?"

Cho followed her gaze then shrugged, "Who knows? If he does, he might just implode."

She shook her head and glanced at the napping Jane again. "It doesn't look good, does it. What the FBI is building. Do you think he's...?"

"No."

She sighed and nodded, "Me neither. It's just too..."

"Convenient? Plus it ignores current research into Dissociative Identity Disorder."

_"Carry on! You will always remember  
Carry on! Nothing equals the splendour  
Now your life's no longer empty  
Heaven surely waits for you."_

"What do you think the truth is?" Van Pelt sighed.

Cho leaned forward and whispered, "The truth? I think Jane's right. There's more than one Red John."


	5. A Roof Over Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick spends an evening at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: roof

The sleet drummed down. Outside, it would be coating the sidewalks and streets with ice. It beat against the window panes, rattling the frames, the glass building a steady coating of ice, reducing the visibility to next to nothing. 

He didn't mind. 

It was a cold night, aheh, a dark and stormy night, he reflected, staring up at the ceiling where the shadows of the trees stretched clawed fingers. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the smiling face drawn in the decaying blood of his wife and daughter. 

A night to make a man grateful to have a roof over his head.


	6. Bright Sunshiney Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why a man might wish for amnesia :-P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: Rain while the sun is shining.

It was a perfect spring day. The sun was shining in a brilliantly blue sky, the air smelled of fresh grass and fresh breezes and the lilacs were just beginning to bud. 

It was just the sort of day his wife loved the most.

It was on a day like this that they'd gone for their first date. 

It was on a day like this that he'd proposed to her. 

It was on a day like this that she'd said yes.

And stupid Rigsby's stupid iPod was playing that stupid stupid song. 

_...When all the birds are singing in the sky  
Now that the spring is in the air  
Pretty girls are everywhere  
When you see them, I'll be--*_

Rigsby's looked around, indignant, when the music cut off, and he saw Patrick standing there, poking the buttons. 

_...It never rains in California  
But girl, don't they warn you  
It pours  
Man, it pours._

Then he stomped out, leaving Rigsby to look at his maligned iPod then glance at Cho, "That guy goes weird at times."


End file.
